


Whitechapel

by LostinFic



Series: Hardy x Hannah ficlets [8]
Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, F/M, Ficlet, Halloween, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5138471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack the Ripper AU<br/>Hardy is an inspector with a sweet spot for Hannah who could be the serial killer's next victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whitechapel

**Author's Note:**

> Trick-or-treat prompt: snowfall  
> Bear with me for this one. I know it doesn’t snow much in London, in October much less, but I remembered it used to snow more back in Dickens’ days which lead me to think about the Victorian era and Jack the Ripper.

_London, 1888_

Inspector Alec Hardy walked the streets with his head bowed, holding down his bowler hat. The weather was unforgiving this year. Harsh cold bit through his coat and turned the day’s rain into snow. As snowflakes covered the filthy street, he thought that, for once, Whitechapel would live up to its name.

4am. His favourite hour. The lull between night and day: drunks snored in the bushes and workers held on to the dregs of a dream. It was the closest to quiet the East End ever was. More so these days as the fear of Jack the Ripper tampered down the residents’ spirit.

It’s not the murderer Hardy was looking for at this hour, but a woman who could become his next victim. He hoped she’d taken heed of his warnings and stayed safely indoors. Just to be sure, he walked towards her usual spot. Every night he checked on her. Every night fear clutched his heart.

 

She was sat on the doorstep of a pub with only a shawl protecting her from the cold. Her face turned to the moon.

“Hello, inspector,” she said without looking at him. “I recognize your footsteps you know, the steady pace, plodding, one foot dragged for a pinch longer than the other.”

He stopped next to her, and she finally looked at him. Snowflakes caught in her eyelashes. Her disheveled blond curls indicated a rough night.

 

He didn’t need to tell her she shouldn’t have gone out.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I know. But a girl’s gotta eat. Either way I might die.”

He’d offered to feed her plenty of times, and did take her in sporadically. But she was wary of men. And rightly so after what had happened to her. She used to be a sought-after courtesan.

 

He offered his hand. Her fingertips were frozen against his palm, her tattered lace gloves did nothing to keep her warm. He blew hot air on them.

“My sweet inspector.”

“I’m not sweet,” he muttered.

“Right, if you were, you’d be married, not here with me.”

Hardy ignored that and started walking towards his home. She caught up with him and looped her arm through his. They walked, huddled together, under the pale night sky.The ripper's shadow lurking at every corner. Promises of a new day bled from the horizon. 

 

Hardy's lodging was by no means luxurious, not even comfortable, but it kept him dry and warm most days.

Hannah went behind the screen that separated the private quarters from the kitchen and cleaned herself. Meanwhile, he heated up the stove and put the kettle on. Moonlight bounced off the snow and brightened up the room, there was no need for a candle.

A half-naked Hannah scurried across the floor and grabbed the tartan blanket off his bed to cover herself. She came to stand next to him in front of the stove, teeth chattering but smiling.

As they waited for the water to boil, he wrapped his arms around her. She pressed the cold tip of her nose to his cheek and delighted in his chuckle. His eyes fell to her lips. Blood-red, scrubbed raw to erase any traces of tonight’s clients, and shiny from a coat beeswax balm. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks.

 

Once the tea was ready and poured, he discarded his own clothes and moved to the bed. They shared the blanket and a cuppa and soothing silence. It was a reprieve of sorts from the screaming rage of the world.

 

Outside, the day stirred awake but the hustle and bustle was cushioned by a layer of snow. Inside, Hannah twined their legs and spoke in hushed tones.

“Will you kiss me?”

“Every day if you want,” he said.

“My sweet inspector…” She ran her nose along his scruffy jaw. “I only want today. Tomorrow I don’t know.”

“That’s what you said yesterday.”

She took nothing for granted, not kisses, not life, and certainly not him.

Tomorrow, the snow would be gone and so would she, so he kissed her before she melted away.


End file.
